


2 A.M.

by SunnyD_lite



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-20
Updated: 2007-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyD_lite/pseuds/SunnyD_lite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's another long night and Jim can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to **janedavitt** for an excellent beta. I reviewed her comments then re-wrote huge chunks so once again all errors are mine own.  
> Prompt: Inertia  
> Disclaimer: These guys, and the Sentinel universe, are owned by PetFly. Just playing, not profiting, no harm, right?  
> Feedback: Oh yes, please!

  
"Sandburg, get some sleep."  
It was two a.m., and he was standing in his robe, in his living room, looking at his roommate who was drowning in blue exam books.  
"Sure, Jim. Just a few more papers to mark and..."  
"Define a few."  
His gruff tone actually caught Sandburg's attention, at least for the moment.  
"A dozen? No more than twenty. Penmanship is so a lost art. I wonder if it's a reliance on computers or apathy about the intended audience? I mean; look at this. Does it say anthropology or anthropologists?"  
Focusing his eyes, Jim was able to decipher the blurred script. "Neither: it says antipasto. What is it; a menu? And how long are these 'few' going to take to mark?" He knew a distraction when he saw one. After all this time he'd at least learned which of Sandburg's comments were his mind dancing the light fantastic and which were deliberate red herrings tossed Jim's way.  
"Am I bothering you? I can move into my room. Have you turned on the white noise generator? That might help."  
"Time, Chief?"  
He could see the quicksilver calculations happening just behind his roommate's guileless eyes. Most people would have missed it, but he'd been watching his watcher long enough to notice his tells. He guessed he should feel honored that Blair was actually contemplating telling him the truth.  
Okay, not that honored; he wasn't sure why but those scales came down on the side of expediency. "Not that long, really," Blair replied.  
"And when were you planning on sleeping?"  
"Jeez, man. It's on the list."  
Now that was a new development. "List?"  
"I'm just as shocked as you. Must be your anal tendencies rubbing off on me, but, yeah I've got a list of things that need to get done."  
Watching Sandburg jitter from exhaustion, he inquired, "And where on this list is sleep?"  
Blair had returned his focus to the exams and laptop in front of him, obviously figuring the battle won. Pushing up his glasses from where they rested on the tip of his nose he muttered, "Ah, seventeenth, I think."  
"_Seventeenth_!" His outrage surprised himself, and it made Sandburg jump like he'd just been shot at. Jim grimaced as he realized Blair had actually handled getting shot at with more élan.  
"Yes, Ellison," Blair spat his name as he stood up. "Some of us have multiple deadlines, as well as a full-time gig, plus your police paperwork, and right now inertia is the only thing keeping me going, well, that and the blessed power of caffeine." His left hand waved towards several mugs forming an archipelago amidst the sea of papers on the coffee table.  
"Are you going to wash those?" Okay, probably not the most appropriate response, but the best defense was a good offence.  
"Sure, Jim. Let me hop right on that. I'll just let the Dean know that the marks weren't filed because Detective James Ellison needed clean dishes." Blair's quiet, controlled tone registered with Jim as a not-so-silent alarm.  
Sandburg glared at him for a long moment, then plunked down on the sofa grabbing his pen and another blue book. He radiated displeasure and began scribbling comments. As he turned to the second page, he looked up. "You want something, Jim? 'Cause lurking is so not helping me mark, man."  
He hated this: the physical confrontation with Blair's other life. Most of the time it was more theoretical. Sure, he'd call Blair's closet of an office or drop him off at campus, but whenever he needed Sandburg, he'd be there, no questions asked. Okay, he'd admit that there'd be questions and comments and asides and a spontaneous lecture or two, but never a question about if Blair'd be there.  
And how selfish was Jim that he hadn't realized where this time was coming from?  
"You _need_ sleep, Chief. I don't know what it is about spring, but this last week's been rough on everyone." He'd barely got his comments out when they were batted aside.  
"I'll sleep when this is done. I keep my obligations, you know that. Just go to bed and let me work." The pen continued to scratch as Blair shook his head at an answer.  
What other choice did he have? Blair might have enmeshed himself seamlessly into Jim's world, but Jim hadn't reciprocated. That hadn't been the deal. He got control of the senses in exchange for some tests and life as a research subject. But they were friends now, weren't they? And friendship shouldn't be just one way.  
"I'm up now, Chief. Anything a Neanderthal throwback can do to help?"  
Sandburg's head dropped forward as if his neck muscles had stopped working. His partially loose hair obscured Jim's view of his face.  
"I'm sorry. I knew I should have done this at Rainier, but once we got home it was just way too much effort to leave again, plus your coffee's better and, man, I so needed the good stuff if I had a chance of pulling this rabbit out of the hat."  
He took a slow breath; one Jim recognized as a cleansing breath, then his arm stretched out and began to gather up the detritus around him. "Give me ten minutes and you'll never know I was here."  
And that thought attacked Jim as if someone had walked on his grave, causing goose bumps to march across his back. How'd this get so out of hand? Was an offer to help that unusual his friend read it as sarcasm? Friends helped each other. Blair cooked, and he ate. Blair did his paperwork, and he dragged Blair away from his paying job. No, he knew it wasn't all one-sided. Blair's stay was the longest week known to man, but the fact that Blair's presence eased Jim's senses didn't make that act of generosity selfish at all.  
While he'd been woolgathering, his roommate had begun shoveling papers and exams into his ever-present backpack. "I'll get to the mugs tomorrow, Jim. I just have to get this done."  
One of the mugs tipped about to flood the coffee table with its contents, but Jim was able to right it in time.  
"Oh, man. Thanks for the catch. Stevenson's handwriting is bad enough without reading through coffee stains." Blair spun around, doing a final check for academic type items. Spotting another pile of blue books, he moved toward them. Jim couldn't let this continue. Positioning himself between Sandburg and his goal, he effectively halted the younger man's plans.  
"Sandburg --" Wait, that wasn't going to help. "Blair, I meant it. Can I enter marks or tabulate or something? I mean it seems a waste of that good inertia to change locations now." The offer was on the table. And holding his breath wouldn't help matters so he forced himself to breathe normally. Would Blair let him help?  
Blue eyes looked up at him, enlarged by the lenses of his glasses. There was a slow blink as his partner processed Jim's offer.  
"You mean it? Really?"  
Words were what had gotten him into this trouble, so Jim merely nodded in confirmation.  
"The math part? Since I've got a feeling that right now I'd see one and one and call it eleven. That would be huge; I don't know how I'd thank you."  
While Sandburg was talking, Jim had slowly herded him back toward the sofa, so at those last words he was able, with a gentle push to the chest, to get Blair sitting down.  
"Think I can manage the addition there, Chief. And don't worry about thanks. Where do you want me to start?"  
A few minutes later found them companionably hunched over papers, slowly whittling down the stacks of blue books. Jim felt a small smile tug at his lips. Sandburg was always helping with his job. It felt good to be able to return the favor. A smart guy he knew once told him it was about friendship. The smart guy was right.


End file.
